Dirt and worm both have a claim
by Kitty September
Summary: A world where the banshee doesn't just sense death, she feeds off it... Dark, Malydia, serial killers au.


"It's really quite simple," Lydia says, cleaning under one long manicured nail with the stiletto blade in her other hand. "It's all about blood, blood and death, in the end."

Stiles struggles in the bonds that bind him to the chair. It's useless. When Lydia applies herself to learning something, she perfects it. The steel chair is welded to the floor, thank you Malia, and the chains and ropes are bound tight. He's not going anywhere. And neither is the plastic sheeting. Get enough animal attacks in closed rooms and even the LA County CBI is going to get suspicious. Another thing Lydia does well, is preparation. It's been months, Malia needs this. And needs this one the most. So Lydia made sure it was perfect. Always, always, perfect.

She leans over their former friend, and her lover's ex-lover. Leans in close enough that his nostrils flare and he tries to move away from her. Tries to run from what he's always said he wanted more than life itself, now that that's really the price he's not so keen. She does it for a reaction really. Nothing more. But it isn't Stilinski's reaction she's after. It's Malia's.

The coyote leans against the wall, bites her lip. Lydia catches her eye and smiles, a little dark and private thing between them. The beast and the banshee ready to play.

"That's where you went wrong, Stilinski. You tried to tame her. You tried to tame us. You tried to keep us human…"

Malia growls low and hot and it makes something in Lydia want to scream back. Lydia shivers through it and carries on. Carries the show.

"...human. We're not human. We need things you can't possibly understand, kid. We need things- like blood, and death, and fear-"

She snaps, bites forward, almost bites his ear off. He shrieks and Lydia smiles. Malia's breath catches just right. Just right.

"Being a banshee is about more than hearing things, it's about more than finding the bodies. It's about making them too. Did you know that, kid? Did you know what I was before I did? Did it make you feel special? Like taming a wild thing? Like knowing might make you strong?"

Malia's moving in closer now. Closer to the spotlight. Closer to the show. She can't help it. There's no blood yet but the coyote inside her bays for it anyway. She can smell the potential in the air, see the blade in Lydia's hand and feel the wanting for it inside them both. Malia's eyes flare blue and that's Lydia's sign too. Time to get the show moving. Moving to the heart of the matter.

"I bet you think this is about you, don't you?"

He glares up at her, struggles against the gag in his mouth. Also uselessly. Malia is circling now, eyes on the prize. Eyes on Lydia. Eyes on Lydia's blade and her hands, and ears on her words and her breath. Ready. So damn ready.

"It isn't about him, is it sweetheart?" Lydia licks her lips while she waits for Malia to get back to human enough to answer.

"No," Malia mumbles through her glory of fangs. Lydia wants to lick them, wants to kiss her just like that and feel the teeth make her bleed. But it's not Lydia that's going to bleed tonight. That's not the point.

"You're not even the bait," Lydia tells their soon to be victim simply. She runs the blade slow and just deep enough up his bare chest and watches the way it makes Malia shiver with desire. Watches the way her gorgeous darkest creature shudders a little gasping breath in time with the human's muffled yelping cry through his gag. Lydia holds on to her own scream just a little longer, even though it's close now. She can feel the death approaching, can feel the violence under Malia's skin even when they're not yet touching. She can feel it just this side of real.

Malia finally stops pacing, and Lydia steps aside. Stops dragging this out and lets him see the real threat in the room. Lets him see what he missed all along. Malia smiles like sin and death and the predator she always was. Then she flicks both hands out and extends her claws in a long show of deadly power. Each bladed nail bursting forth from her mystical flesh like a gift from Death herself. Like a gift from the earth and the sun and all the things that make Malia what she is.

"You're just practice," Malia growls. Then she leaps. Takes a final leap into the air and into the sun and into herself. Metaphor come to life in one graceful act of aggression.

When Lydia screams it sounds like hunger.


End file.
